Together - The Other Prophecy
by Novalian
Summary: When the record of the second wizarding war was realeased, they missed out an important detail. In this story, you are the protagonist, a good friend of Harry Potter that never made it into history. Become a student of Hogwarts and explore your own story in second person point of view, while being involved in a very dangerous mission. (First work, please read)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Let's get this out of the way first: I do not own the Harry Potter series, I am merely an enthusiastic fan with a good imagination. JK Rowling and Warner Bros owns the series, this is a reinterpretation.**

 **Now, let's get started. I am excited!**

Chapter 1: Where All Things Begin

You heard the distant ringing of the morning bell. It's time to get up, but perhaps a few minutes wouldn't hurt...

Five minutes, you decided, and dozed off again.

"Amy? Are you up?" A voice is at the door. You turned your body a little, still half asleep, grunting a little. Four loud thumps came from the door. "Breakfast in five minutes!" the voice became quieter and you heard footsteps.

With a sudden burst of motivation and strength that you know will not appear again for the rest of the day, you sat up, pushing the cover off of your body, revealing blue floral-patterned pajamas. Using speed that surprises even yourself, you change into your day cloth: dark jeans and t-shirt, with an olive green Hollister jacket on top and converse sneakers. For an orphan living in an orphanage, that's the best you can afford- it's even name brand, and looks normal enough, normal meaning not too shabby. Brushing your teeth in the common bathroom, you pondered your schedule today. Will someone ask for my company or help today, or will you just sit in your room, reading, pondering the meaning of life, or scribbling in your notebook about observations and thoughts again? You may never know what's ahead of you. Fate has its own ways of leading people, and you are determined to be lead somewhere. Or it's just luck and hard work, and you just have to work really hard to get lucky.

You look up after having put your toothbrush away, into the smudged and clouded mirror. A small, soft featured, eleven year old girl with brown hair and blue eyes full of golden specks stares back at you. You are skinny but surprisingly strong, and a couple of the boys made the mistake of underestimating your strength in a game of arm wrestling and bruised their knuckles on the table. Your look is normal enough to pass the inspection of most by passers in the crowded city of London, but those closer to you realize that you are special- some might even say freaky.

You head downstairs. Unsurprisingly, the table is already full of other orphans. You are late, after all. You sit down at your usual chair, around the middle area. You do not like to attract more attention than you already do. Sophia and Edwin on your left and right respectively muttered a good morning, and a happy birthday. Oh! Is it August the fifteenth already? Well, it doesn't matter. No one will give you gifts anyway. Perhaps you'll buy yourself a birthday cake. You return the greeting. Holding out your hand, the milk carton became afloat and came to you. Over the years, you have developed a handy set of - er, skills- that are quite curious, some would even call magical. That's why a lot of people call you a freak- because you are special, and they are jealous. You poured milk into your bowl. No one near you looked up at this extraordinary phenomenon, but a couple of the newcomers stared. The owner of this orphanage, Mrs. Jones, glanced disapprovingly at them. In this orphanage, manners are highly regarded. Staring is rude, and therefore, mostly not done here.

Stirring your tea by spinning your finger above it, you head upstairs again after you've finished your breakfast of toast, sausages, and scrambled eggs. No one asked you to hang out. It's Amy's turn to help with the dishes, Edwin has late homework assignments, Laura is sick, Sam is on a field trip today, Bella is helping to teach the little kids, and the rest are either not close friends or still find you too weird. You set your mug down on your desk and started your daily practice of your skills.

You clap. The drawers of your desk open and a notebook shoots out, landing on your desk. A pen from your pencil holder drifts gracefully to your hand, hovering in mid air. This one is rather useless, you don't have to move much to reach these and they tend to knock things over from the strict route they always take.

You clap twice. The door shuts and locks. This is for when you are blasting music, or trying out new techniques. The room is also now soundproofed, but if something is particularly loud, like metal music, the whole building can feel the vibration. Last month, you learned how to install and invisible barrier at the door, but during the experiment process you made the door explode into flames at least twice. Of course, you fixed it without a trace of black, but it had left a charred smell in your room for a week. It was only luck that no one was walking through the corridor at the time. Even now, you cannot let the barrier down without it releasing a blinding flash. You had bought yourself a pair of sunglasses after that

You hold your hands up in the air, stare at your bed, and move your hands closer, almost like zooming in on a touch screen. The bed immediately became smaller. You grinned. Sometimes, if you're bored, you use this as a prank on other people's rooms. You would make something, the desk, for example, so small that it is not functional. Or you would make the blanket slightly smaller so that it cannot cover their shoulders and feet at the same time. One time, you enlarged the chair to fill the whole room, but it had taken forever to make it exactly the same size and height again.

You hold two fingers in the air and hover it over the bed, and speedily zoomed it to the right. The miniature bed followed the movement, sliding to the right, almost knocking over you lamp. This one needs more precaution: some of the larger furniture has a slower reaction, and others tend to skid a little after your fingers have stopped.

With a wave of your hand everything goes back to normal. The door opens, the bed unshrinks and goes back to its original position. Only the notebook and the pen remains on the desk. Sitting down, you shove the notebook to the corner of the desk and pulled out a book, starting to read.

A raven flew up and perched on your windowsill with a croak. "Hi," the croak had meant.

"Hello, old raven." You mutter. The range of your skill is quite wide, but the aspect of talking to animals had only extends to crows and ravens. This one is your friend. London is full of ravens, but this one is special. There are many like this one, but this one is yours.

"Something's going to happen today." The raven croaked. It was nibbling on a piece of French fry in her mouth.

"Something happens everyday; you've been telling me this for years." You haven't looked up from the book. This is almost an inside joke, but the raven seems to take it very seriously. "Or are you planning a birthday surprise?"

"Oh, happy birthday, then. But we've only know each other for 1 year." She put the fry down on the windowsill and looked you in the eye. Ravens don't care much about human celebrations, unless it gives them extra food. "Anyway, something special is going to happen today. I can feel it. There is disturbance in the air I fly in. It is especially strong near you."

"Yeah, sure." You rolled your eyes a little. She may behave mysteriously, but in truth she is just a big fur ball that likes to be petted and left over fast food. "But tell me what is going to happen today anyway, Morrigan."

"You're going to receive a visitor- I think. My senses are clouded by that bitter drink of yours." Morrigan glared at your steaming hot tea. You had not expected an answer, but the raven has given it. You have never been informed before. She had always refused to tell you, saying that you will find out eventually. That is why you have always taken it as a joke. However, perhaps today will be the special day.

"It's actually pretty good, if you get used to it." Like the British stereotype, you've always defended "the bitter drink". "Just like half rotten fast food. You like it, but I don't."

Morrigan let out a little squeak, the ravens' way of grunting.

"Anyway, tell me about this visitor." You continue, taking a sip of the hot tea, feeling its steam run against your lips. You bend your head down to continue reading. It is a very interesting book.

"I cannot. Only time will tell." The raven made a little pun. Ravens and crows are very clever creatures.

"Then ask him for me, if you talk to his boss so much." You responded, referencing to the fates. Ravens are often associated with divination; you've read that in a history book about the Celtic religions. That was what made you name the raven Morrigan, the Celtic goddess of crows.

The raven produced a series of short croaks, sounding almost like a human laugh. Then her head shot up. "Here comes the visitor," She said, and flew off without another word. Sure enough, you soon hear knocks on the door of the orphanage.

 **Author's note: So that was that. What do you think of my first chapter? Please review or follow if you like it, and feel free to tell me if there's something you would like me to fix. I shall try to update regularly, perhaps once a week. I look forward to publishing the next chapter J.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Start of the Journey

You grab an erasable marker and kneel down on the floor. Opening your notebook, you copy a symbol onto the wooden floorboard that looks like an oval with a circle in the middle, with an F on the right side and a vertically reflected F on the left. You write "The office" above the symbol. Immediately, your room filled with disembodied voices. Clapping twice, you sound proofed the room so that no one else can hear. The door slammed shut and clicked behind you.

You could hear Mrs. Jone's voice. "... Waldgrave? Waldgrave... Let me think..." There was sound of ruffling paper. "Oh, you mean Amy? Oh." A pause. "Ok. Well, I'm not sure she would be the best choice for your school."

"Why would that be? Is she difficult?"A deeper, masculine voice. This must be the visitor! He sounds like an older man. "For it does not matter. We would want her no matter what she's like."

"No no, it's not that..." Mrs. Jones trailed off a little. "It's just... The things she does are... a little strange." There was a shuffling noise, the kind people would make when they shift uncomfortably. So Mrs. Jones does share the opinion with everyone else. You're a freak and everyone knows it, and so be it. You are not ashamed of what you can do. It's the society that should be ashamed of its shunning attitude for people different from most.

"Ah. I see." There's the unfamiliar voice again. "Well, you should probably know that most of the pupils at my school are a little weird, as you put it." There was a noise of paper being drawn out. "Here are the papers."

"I see. Well, everything seems to be in order." A pause. "I suppose you would like to see her?"

"Very much."

There was the sound of footsteps and the scraping of chairs. Quickly, you wiped out the mark on the floorboard with your black t-shirt, concealing the evidence of eavesdropping. You sat on the edge of your moon-and-stars-patterned bed and tried to look as innocent as possible. Remembering, you clapped your hands twice again and the door unlocked. The sound barrier was also let down. The footsteps are on the stairs now.

No more the ten seconds later, there were knocks on your door. You stood up, but it opened before you could answer. Mrs. Jones' face peered into your room.

"Amy? You have a visitor." Behind her stands a tall, elder man with a rather strange appearance. His hair and beard are silver, and are so long they can be tucked into his belt. On his long, crooked nose perched spectacles in the shape of half moons, and behind them hid brilliant blue eyes that twinkled like the sun reflecting on the ocean. He smiled kindly at you. "Don't get too carried away with... you know..." Mrs. Jones trails off.

"I won't." You respond, eyes fixed on the strange man. He is wearing the purple vest of a three piece suit with a navy blue shirt under it and draped by a long gray trench coat, and wrapped by a scarlet woven scarf. On the collar of his shirt was a green polka dotted bowtie, and his left middle finger bore a golden ring encrusted with a large amethyst monogrammed with a golden M. You wondered what that stands for.

Mrs. Jones nodded and left. The stranger held out his hand and stepped into your room. "Hello, Amy." Still smiling, he grasped your hand firmly and shook it. "I am Professor Dumbledore. I would like to offer you a place in my school." He let go of your hand.

"Nice to meet you." His calm and even voice reminds you of someone. But who? "How did you know about me?" You said after a pause. "I've never won an award, heck, I've never even been to school. This orphanage taught us everything. The only documents about me are all legally required."

The man is still smiling. He had taken a seat at the chair behind your desk. "Our school has a special way of finding talent. We find and communicate with students all around the British Isles." his smile widens. "And this place showed particular talent. That is why I, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, personally came to find you."

You were shocked into silence. "I'm sorry, Hogwarts School of what?" You said after a while.

"Witchcraft and Wizardry." Dumbledore said simply.

Another uncomfortable silence. It was broken by you. "I hope this is a joke." But deep in your heart, you know that it was not. Deep in your heart, you've wished for this day to come for years, immediately after your first demonstration of what this man just called "witchcraft". And now, maybe you've found other people like you - special, gifted. Better and envied.

Professor Dumbledore merely shakes his head. He pulls out from his inside pockets a long brown stick that looks like it has joints, and points at the violin sitting in the corner of your room. It immediately floats up in midair and began to play itself.

You stare at it, eyes wide with horror. Then you turn your round eyes onto the professor. He laughs loudly. "You seem surprised. I thought you knew that you were different? We saw many signs of magic from this building, and you seem to be the one producing it." He put his stick thingy inside his coat again, but the connection broke and your precious violin falls from the air. Adrenaline increases your reaction speed: Your hand shoots out, and the violin freezes in midair. The bow hit the ground but bounces off like it landed in a trampoline. Slowly, you lead the violin back into its case, and turn to stare at the oddly dressed man again. He's right, you shouldn't be too surprised.

"It seems that you already exercise great control over your magic. You would make an excellent student, and eventually a brilliant witch." His eyes twinkled even more. "Wool's Orphanage does have its share of incredible magic."

For a while, you are unable to speak. "So it's magic that I can do?" You ask. It may seem so unbelievable, but to you, it seems so fitting. "And there are many others like me?"

"Tens of Thousands," the headmaster said. "And ever growing. You see, sometimes a witch or wizard is born in a completely muggle- that's what we call non-magical people- family."

"And is that what happened to me?" You question. Where had you come from, where will you go? Where did you come from, if this isn't a joke? Are you a mutation? Or did you inherit a special power passed down from your family for generations? You hope that it's the second. IT seems more supreme, more magical.

"I don't think so. We have reasons to believe that your parents are magical." His eyes suddenly are dull for a moment, but yours shines. "I actually personally knew them myself."

"Oh. So they're not dead?" They can't have died if they could do magic, right?

"They are. I'm sorry." He adds in response to the disappointed look on your face. "Magic cannot make you immortal, Amy. You must know that. All humans were meant to be mortal. Nor can it bring back the dead." He interrupted you as you opened your mouth. You quickly closed it again. "They were killed by a very dark wizard, his name is Lord Voldemort. Most of the witches and wizards do not speak his name, but the fear of a name increases the fear itself. And it does not matter now anyway, he is gone. Defeated by a Baby Boy." The last sentence was added to soothe your look of terror.

You looked deep into the old wizard's eyes. Beneath the sparkling blue, there is a silvery layer: thoughts and memories. You learned this trick from the raven: how to read one's thoughts. "Who's Harry Potter?" You ask him. That is the name that was spoken in your own mind, but is not your thought.

"What?" His tone suddenly turned sharp. "How do you know him?"

You shrugged. "It was in your eyes."

His voice turned even again. "Amy, you should know that mind reading is very rude in both worlds. Please do not do that again, and I question where you learned that."

"Sorry, Professor." You apologize. You shouldn't have asked. But you did not plan to reveal your source. Never reveal your entire self to someone you do not trust- and you certainly do not trust this man yet.

"Thank you. However, to answer your question- Harry Potter was the boy who defeated Lord Voldemort." There is no trace of the sharpness previously found in his voice. "But let's talk more about Hogwarts. Hogwarts, as you know, is a school of magic. Here is your official letter of invitation," He hands you an envelope. You open it to find a letter written in green ink directed to you, written by a "Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress". "But it does not contain much more information. But enclosed you will find more important things. First is the train tickets to Hogwarts," You pull out a small rectangular cardboard ticket labeled nine and three quarters, at King's Cross Station. "And the second is the list of materials you will need during the school year."

At that, you look up. "But I haven't got any money," At the raise of the Headmaster's eyebrows, you add, "I worked in exchange for this stuff." you gesture around the room at the name brand clothes in the closet and the violin, and an entire bookshelf of colorful, leather-bound books. Now that you know of your identity, the books make the scene almost aesthetic.

"Well, that wouldn't be a problem. Your wizarding parents didn't leave you with nothing." Dumbledore smiles again. "There is a wizarding bank at the place where you will get all of your required materials. Your parents have a vault there. I have reasons to believe that it's pretty filled."

"Huh, neat." So your parents have left you a fortune, but you live in a shabby orphanage? "So how would I get there?"

Dumbledore stands up."I will be taking you there." He glances at the clock in the corner of the room. "If we leave now, we would get there by noon, and we will finish around five."

You stand up also. "Well, I'm excited."

"Can we find all of these in London?" You ask, standing at the gate of the orphanage. You had skimmed through the list of supplies and are now weirded out. _Parchment! Quills! Cauldrons!_ You understand that there's a medieval magic aesthetic going on, but wouldn't pens and lined paper work better? And gee, you dunno, a stewing pot? You doubt any shop keeper will take you seriously in the whole British Isles.

"If you know where to look." You think Professor Dumbledore just winked at you.

After a thirty minutes walk, you arrive at a small, ancient looking pub at the corner of a street. It is so small that no one except for those looking for it would give it a second glance.

"Only a witch or wizard can see this place," Said Professor Dumbledore. "Muggles would walk right past it, not knowing that it's here. It's going to be very crowded in there, wizards and witches from all around the country come here."

You step through behind the headmaster, and are greeted by a rush of noise including the tinkling of glass and busy chatting, and occasional loud guffaws. They quiet down a little as they see Dumbledore, but the volume immediately increased again. The place is dimly lit and, to be honest, a little filthy. The tables are wooden and unwaxed or painted, and there are no floorboards. It looks like one of those medieval taverns you would see in video games. Has the wizarding society lived under a rock since the fourteenth century?

"G'morning, Headmaster." The barmaid greets him. Dumbledore merely nods and steers you towards the back. You walk out the back door and come to dead end, with an old brick wall and a battered bin. Dumbledore took out his stick again and taps a seemingly random brick above the trash can. The brick edges into the wall, and the whole wall began to shift, the bricks twisting and turning this way and that, and ultimately, formed an archway leading to an even more crowded street, filled with little shops that are full of what looks like metallic colored antics. You feel your breath being taken away.

"Welcome, Amy, to Diagon Alley." Says Professor Dumbledore.

 **Author's Note: I would like to say a word of thanks to everyone that is reading this, because you have stuck with me or Amy until at least the second chapter. Please like or follow, I worked hard on this. Please review if you feel like I did a good job or if I need to fix something. I look forward to publishing more :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The First Trip

You feel your jaw drop open in awe. Professor Dumbledore chuckles besides you. "It has been a while since I've introduced a muggle-raised to the wizarding world." His eyes twinkled. "They don't ask me to do those things once I'm headmaster, thinking I couldn't be bothered. The truth is, I loved seeing their reactions." He turns his silver head to look at you. "Come, let's go. We don't have all day."

You nod, still speechless. The professor steps into the alley and you follow one step behind his long, swooping trench coat. The narrow alley was filled with small, dusty shops that make the street look like the street of a small, cozy, medieval village. Small kids and teenagers followed adults waving wands around, sometimes staring into a shop window, oohing and aahing. One small shop labeled Quality Quidditch Supplies. All around you witches and wizards in colorful robes walk past, and now you understand Dumbledore's bizarre appearance. Almost everyone that saw him greeted him enthusiastically, including a small, stuttering wizard wearing a turban that Dumbledore introduced as Professor Quirrel, the teacher of Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year. He was so nervous that you doubted he is a competent teacher, much less the teacher of Defense against the Dark Arts.

Walking on, you pull the long list of supplies from the envelope containing your invitation. It says:

 _First Year will require:_

• _Uniform_

 _Three sets of plain black work robes (black)_

 _One plain pointed hat (black for day wear)_

 _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

 _One winter cloak (black, silver, fastenings)_

 _Please note that all students' clothes should carry a name tag at all times_

• _Books_

 _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A beginners Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A guide to protection by Quentin Trimble_

• _Other Equipments_

 _A wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 set of glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope_

 _1 set of brass scales_

 _Students may also bring an owl, cat or a toad_

 _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS!_

The list looks more bizarre than Dumbledore's outfit. You eye it suspiciously. "Can we find all of those things here, then?" You ask.

"If you know where to look." Dumbledore's reply was the same. "But first, you must get your money first. Here is the wizarding band of Gringotts, run by goblins." In front of them rose a gigantic, tall, white building with columns. It was so white you have to squint your eyes to look at the marble walls. You clenched your jaw, determined to keep them closed.

As you approach the door, you see a piece of parchment attached to it. Words were written in elegant cursive. It reads:

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take, but do not earn_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn_

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

You feel completely flabbergasted. Here you are, standing in a bizarre alley, holding a bizarre list, surrounded by bizarre people, following a bizarre man, reading a bizarre poem on a bank supposedly run by goblins and used by wizards. But yet, there's no way this is a prank. No one have the power to pull off a prank this grand, and when Dumbledore played your violin, it definitely was real magic. And the "skills" you have further proves that magic is real.

All these thoughts must have shown on your face, because Dumbledore chuckles besides you again. "All of these are very real, Amy. How else do you explain what you can do?"

(A moment later)

Inside Gringotts is a vast marble hall, full of little creatures with long nails and sharp teeth, dressed in tiny suits, which you assume are goblins. About a hundred goblins are sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There are too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins are showing people in and out of these. You and Dumbledore head for the counter.

"Good morning, Bodrod." The headmaster greets the creature as though he knows him. It's impossible, though: there are too many goblins and they all look alike.

"Headmaster." the goblin named Bodrod looks up from his mound of stacked paper taller than him, but stacked on a lower desk while he is sitting in a tall stool. "What brings you here?"

"We wish to open Amy Waldgrave here's vault." Says the headmaster.

The goblin looks like he has more questions, but did not ask them. "Keys?" He simply says.

Dumbledore draws from his pocket a small bronze key and places it on the counter.

Bodrod examines the key closely, and then peaks over the counter at you. "Yes, everything seems to be in order." He said slowly. "If you would just follow Hodreg here..." He points at something that you can't see because it was completely blocked from your view by the tall counter. You assume that it is another goblin.

Hodreg leads you towards a door at the back of the hall. You expected more marble, but walks into a dimly lit tunnel with tracks on the ground. The little goblin whistles, and a cart come towards the two of you. "Hop on," said the goblin. You and the professor climb into the small cart. The cart goes off again at an alarming speed.

You try to remember which way you've turned- left, right, right, left, right, left, left- but it was impossible. After a few turns, your head felt like it might fall off. Dumbledore next to you just hums to himself. All around you, stalactites and stalagmites spiked from the rocks of the cave. Finally, the cart starts to slow down. You stop at a vault numbered 182, its door covered by a layer of metal with complicated designs. You get a feeling that you shouldn't touch the door. You and Dumbledore climb out of the cart. The little goblin put your key into a hidden lock and the iron door opens, revealing multi-colored flashes of light. You couldn't control yourself this time and your jaw dropped, amusing the headmaster again.

"All yours," Says Dumbledore.

Inside were mounds of gold coins, columns of silver, heaps of little bronze ones about the size of a penny. "The gold ones are galleons." Dumbledore has stayed outside of the vault, behind you. "Seventeen of the silver sickles equal a galleon, and twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a sickle." He hands you small bag. "Fill this up and it should be enough."

Several moments later you and the headmaster reappear in the alley again, after another ride of the infernal cart. Your stomach felt queasy. Dumbledore, however, merely looks as him he just went on a carriage ride. His silver beard and hair does appear messier, being blown all over the place on the cart. He points at a nearby shop. "You can get your uniform over there. Do you mind if I meet you later? I have to take a visit to my own vault."

You nod and head into the small shop. The sign on top said "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions".

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed in all mauve. "Hogwarts?" She said before you open your mouth. You nod. "Got the lot back here." She leads you to the back of the shop to be fitted. A long, black robe is thrown over you and she starts to pin it to the right length. It was wide sleeved and covered your hands when you stand straight. The robe flows after you when you walk. It was uneventful except for some awkward small talk, and you head out of the shop in five minutes. Professor Dumbledore was waiting outside.

The next step was to buy parchment and quills. You are greatly amused by a long purple quill that changed colors as it write. Another one automatically checks your spelling. But in the end, Professor Dumbledore only let you buy the normal ones.

On the way out of the shop, you were visited by an old friend. You feel a weight on your shoulder and look to your right. Sitting on your shoulder was Morrigan, with her sleek black feathers. "Hello, "she croaks to you. "So you're finally going to Hogwarts."

"You knew about Hogwarts? And you didn't tell me?" You feel slightly betrayed, and then feel slightly dramatic. Dumbledore next to you looks very interested, and for the first time on this trip, looks like he cared. Perhaps it's not normal that you can talk to ravens?

It simply shrugs, moving its gigantic wings in a quick gesture. "I've only know you for one year."

"That's one fifteenth of your life time!" You are outraged. _Traitor! Secret keeper!_ Morrigan shrugs again.

Professor Dumbledore spoke. "It looks like you don't need another familiar." His eyes twinkle brightly. "You already have quite a friend here."

"Hello, professor." Morrigan Croaks.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you. Few wizards can talk with ravens." He adds to your look of confusion. You feel increasingly awkward every moment.

"It says Owl, Cat, or Toad on my list though." Both of you turns to look at Dumbledore.

"Ah, I'll make an exception for you. I'm headmaster; I get to do what I want." He smiles mischievously.

"Well, at least now you have a friend at Hogwarts." Croaks Morrigan.

"Shut up."

Dumbledore simply laughed. So when you talk to ravens, you are still speaking English, but the ravens can understand you?

(A while later)

You brought books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Dumbledore had to lead you away from the stack of charms books. Morrigan had flown away with a "See you", but you would have liked to show her all this.

You walk with Dumbledore to an Apothecary. "I never had a chance to ask: what can you do with your magic? You seem to surprise me at every turn." He didn't slow his pace.

"Hmm..." You think for a while. "I can move stuff around, but you saw that already. I'm good at lighting things on fire, though. Every time an experiment goes wrong, something lights on fire." Dumbledore looks slightly amused. "Over the years, I've learned to do this:"

You hold out your hand, long fingers pointing up. At the tip of each finger a flame of a different color lights up. You feel no pain, only slight warmth where the fire comes from. Dumbledore raises his eyebrows. "Impressive," He says, impressed.

"I can also make force fields. Once a basket ball was flying towards my head but it just bounced off like it hit a wall. Sometimes I use it to block my door too." You add. You know you have a long list of "Skills" you now know as magic, but now that someone asks, you don't remember any.

"I think I'm good at controlling all elements. I mean like, earth, air, water and all that," You add to Dumbledore's confused look. "Not the periodic table." Seeing that it made him more confused, you continue on. "And this one time I slowed down everything around me, like watching a video in slow motion. It was an accident though; I never learned how to do it. I saved someone's life that time. He was going to fall." You have a flashback to that one field trip to a small town near a cliff. You and Georgie were playing around the drop to the rushing water when he suddenly tripped over a pebble. Time slowed and you were able to catch his hand. You two have been close friends since.

Dumbledore nods with understanding. "Sometimes when you have an adrenaline rush, your instincts in your heritage will kick in and you would usually do some magic. But I doubt you had many cases of that, you exercised great control over your magic."

You arrive at the Apothecary. It was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Dumbledore won't let you buy a solid gold cauldron. "The school requires pewter," He said. But you got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. While the man behind the counter was preparing a package of "basic potion ingredients", you find yourself examining some silvery unicorn hair and small, glittery-black beetle eyes. You toy with the telescope on your entire way to your last stop- the wand shop, Ollivander's.

"There's only your wand left." Said Professor Dumbledore. "The wand maker here, Mr. Ollivander, is one of the best in the world. He comes form a whole line of experienced wand makers. In fact, his father made my wand when I attended Hogwarts."

A magic wand... That's really what you have been looking forward to. "Is it necessary? I mean, does every wizard have one?"

Dumbledore glanced sideways at you. "Every wizard except those who attended Uagadou, the official school of magic in Africa." He paused. "But since you attend Hogwarts, a wand is required. You are very talented bare handed, yes, but with a wand you will explore a world of much greater magic."

You nod. More magic: you like it! Ever since you discovered that you are a witch, you have wanted to know as much of magic as possible: To be different from everyone else- the muggles- is a fascinating experience, and you want to extend that distance. What a world it would be if it were without the ordinary! But if everyone was special, is anyone still special?

The last shop is narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lies on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. This shop must be ancient, like Dumbledore said.

The headmaster stops in front of the door. "You will be going in alone, Amy." He turns to face you as your head tilt in confusion. "Acquiring a wand is a very personal moment; I wouldn't want to interrupt your bonding with your wand. I will wait outside for you."

You nod your thanks and open the door, walking in and immediately smelling the musty odor of old wood and dust. A tinkling bell rang somewhere inside the depth of the ancient shop. It is a tiny place, almost empty except for a spindly and equally ancient chair. You feel like you have entered a very strict library- it is eerily quiet in here. You look up at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of your neck prickle. The very dust and silence in here seem to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon." A soft voice makes you jump. An old man is standing before you, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello." You say awkwardly, but as soon as you spoke, a loud "BANG" goes off somewhere deep in the shop.

"OOOoooOOOh," The old man you think is Ollivander widens his eyes in interest and amusement. He immediately goes into the stacks of boxes to look for the source of the noise. His voice drifted to you from what sounds like far away. "That doesn't happen very often. You are very lucky." there was a thump, and the voice suddenly sounded very strained, like when someone talking while stretching. "This symptom only happens when a very powerful wand meets its exact match." The voice sound normal again. "Ah, there we are."

Ollivander reappears from behind a far away shelf. In his hands is a box covered with dust and cobwebs. He hastily brushes them off.

"Try this. Red Oak and dragon heartstring, twelve and a half, unbending." The old silvery man hands a long stick to you, handle first. Upon closer inspection, it was polished shiny and red in color, and entwined in silver in vine patterns on the thicker parts, which you think is the handle. It made your grip easier, fitting exactly on your fingers. It was practical yet beautiful, with a slightly Victorian taste. It is used not unlike the lines on an American football, yet not straight, but curved like the ivy climbing the wall. You swooshed it around a little, testing its feel. You feel a slight prick on the back of your neck, and the area around you promptly burst into flames, surrounding you in some type of an inferno circle.

"Oh, bravo!" Ollivander shouts over the noises of the fire. Oddly, you don't feel any heat, only a slight warmth. Then as quickly as it had come, the flames vanishes, leaving only a slight smell of a crackling log fire, sweet to your nostril.

"Sorry, I think I burnt your floor a-" You look down, but there is no trace of blackness, and the dust that had been there before is still there. You cock an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, the store's enchanted. All things fix themselves." Ollivander explains. "The wand always chooses the wizard, yes, but often, it doesn't match themselves to the customer. I have to do the work myself. And if the wrong wand is in the hand of the wrong owner, things go wrong." He says as he packages your wand in a long, thin box. "But I haven't sold a red oak wand for many years, not since - Unless you're… But that's impossible, no."

"I'm sorry, what's impossible?" You ask, confused by the mumbling.

"Nothing, my dear girl, merely thinking aloud. That will be seven galleons." He hands the box to you.

You rummage through the small bag for seven of the large golden coins. "There we go," You say happily.

"Oh, and one more thing," Ollivander turns around as he puts the coins away. "Be careful with that wand. Red oak wands should not be in the hands of the weak willed, especially those matched with dragon heartstrings."

"Why not?" You turned around from the door. Curiosity was what gave you such control over your magic.

"Well... Red oak wands make great dueling wands, and the owners will turn out to be great duelers. And that's good. But," he paused. "Owners of dragon heartstring wands, statistically speaking, tend to go to the wrong side. Dragon Heartstrings chooses the ambitious, but sometimes in the wrong way." The old man says almost reluctantly. "But that is not necessarily true. Let's hope it does not become true in your case. We would be losing a lot if it does." He turns back around again. "Have a good day."

You took the cue and left.

(A moment later)

You are rejoined by Professor Dumbledore and Morrigan at the door. The sleek raven was perched on Dumbledore's shoulder, and the professor looked although he was speaking to it.

"A very intelligent bird you have here," Both heads turn to look at you as you exit the small shop. You squint at the sudden bright light- it was rather dim in the shop. "And certainly very polite. She hasn't bitten me yet."

"Ravens are very smart creatures. I like them." You say. Morrigan begin to croak at you.

"A very intelligent teacher you have here," Morrigan said mockingly. "And certainly very polite. He hasn't shooed me away yet."

"Learn to take a compliment, Morrigan." But you couldn't hide the grin in your voice.

"What did she say?"

Blushing a little, you translate in English. The professor only chuckles. "I think we should stop our shopping spree here. I do believe you have everything now."

(A moment later)

"Are you alright, Amy?" Dumbledore says on the walk back to Wool's Orphanage. "You seem very quiet."

Morrigan had flown ahead. You would have gotten looks if a bird was perched on your shoulder, if you had not already had enough because of Dumbledore's appearance. "I'm fine." Dumbledore does not seem convinced. "Back there in Ollivander's, he told me that my wand tends to belong to those on the wrong side." Pausing a little, you continue. "I'm a little concerned. I don't want to be a problem."

"Ahh," the exclamation was half a sigh. "Mr. Ollivander has probably told you his family's motto- the wand chooses the wizard." You nod. "Well, you should know that it is you, not your wand, who decides what you want to become. Mr. Ollivander thinks that a wand looks at someone's fate and chooses their owner according to it. But I want to tell you that it is wrong. There is no such thing as fate. It is each individual's choices that determine their turn out."

"I hope that is true. I want to have some control over my life." You say.

Dumbledore chuckles again. "A very strong willed young women. You will make a great witch some day. But yes, everyone has a choice, the exact amount of choices as anyone. Everyone has a choice, only some are more difficult than others. Don't choose the wrong one, and you'll be fine."

You nod and stay silent for the rest of the walk back.

(At the door of the orphanage)

"I think I'll leave you here, Amy." You are standing at the gate to the yard of Wool's Orphanage. The black iron doors gave the place a forbidding look. "In your enveloped you'll find a train ticket to Hogwarts Express at platform nine and three quarters at King's Cross Station." At your confused look, the headmaster gives a chuckle. "This may sound very bizarre. At the train station, you will see platform nine and ten. There is a brick wall between the two platforms that will only be solid for muggles. You must walk straight into the wall to reach the platform."

"I got it. Thank you, professor, for the trip. I assume I can't tell my muggle friends about this?" You question. Surely, no muggles would know about magic?

"That is correct. Well, I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts." Dumbledore turned around and walked a few steps, then paused. "I think we've come to rather friendly terms today. But at Hogwarts, you will be expected to address me as Professor, or Headmaster. No one knows I've taken it as a personal responsibility to meet this extraordinary young witch."

"But sir, why exactly did you come personally to see me?" Curiosity drove you to ask.

Dumbledore paused for a long time.

"I'm sorry sir; I didn't mean to pry..." Curiosity killed the cat.

"No, it's fine. I just wanted to see how the daughter of my dear friends Eleanor and Jonathan Waldgrave turned out. Quite the wizards they were." But satisfaction brought it back. You see Dumbledore's twinkling eyes suddenly turn dull. You look down. "Oh! But before I forget," His tone turned cheerful again. You found it safe to look up. "Happy birthday, Amy."

Out of thin air a paper box appears, floating slightly above his hand. He hands it to you, smiling kindly again. You feel you face turns red.

"Thank you, sir, you didn't have to…" You mutter.

"Oh, but it isn't every day your best friend's daughter turns eleven, is it?" He walks off, and with a loud pop, completely vanished. You gape at the spot where he disappeared, then shake your head. After what you've seen today, nothing should surprise you anymore. You turn and head back to the orphanage.

 **Author's Note: I would like to say a word of thanks to everyone that is reading this, because you have stuck with me or Amy until at least the third chapter. Please like or follow, I worked hard on this. Please review if you feel like I did a good job or if I need to fix something. I look forward to publishing more.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: A Special Mission

Dumbledore had given you a gigantic birthday cake with orange colored and flavored icing and lots of fruit. You shared it with your closer friends over the next couple of days, but you had told none of them where you had actually been, saying only that you had been invited to a school, and the professor had taken you shopping. They don't know what a professor would actually do anyway, so it didn't take a lot of convincing.

However, you had to hide your anticipation. Magic! Away from these ordinary muggles! You cannot wait for September first to come. On the second day, you had thought that it was a dream, but the beautiful wand now resting on your desk reminded you otherwise. A couple of the kids that thought you were freaky looked happy to see you go, but so were you. In fact, you had tried hard not to skip down the stairs and shout out the news.

Now it is the twenty-eighth of August, and there is only two more days until you board the train to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Every day you wake up and feel an excitement you can barely contain in your stomach.

You are reading your new textbook, trying to absorb as much knowledge about magic as possible, and trying out a few spells too. Your personal favorite is Incendio, which blasts a powerful flame. It was suppose to go a few feet, but for you it bounced off the walls and anything else you didn't want to hit. You have a particular control over fire. But that's when you hear knock on the orphanage's door.

You listen carefully, unsure to eavesdrop or not. On one hand, it might provide useful information. Or it might not be about you, and you're just being rude. You shake your head and continue to read. Not today. If it is about you, you will find out later.

You hear footsteps on the stairs, and later, a knock on your door. You feel your heart stop for a millisecond, and immediately get paranoid. What if they're going to tell you that they've made a mistake, and you can't attend Hogwarts?

"Amy?" Comes Mrs. Jones' voice. You turn around in your spinny chair. Your heart leaps up to your throat. Following Mrs. Jones was definitely another wizard, and this time, he hasn't even tried to dress up like a muggle. He was wearing all black, with tight sleeves and lots of shiny metal buckles. He has long, unkempt, shoulder length hair and a stony face. His eyes were a dark black, set on a gaunt, bony face. "You have another visitor. He's here to talk more about this school you're attending." She turns around and left. The visitor walks in.

Unlike Dumbledore, who was a kind old man that radiated calmness, this wizard gives off an air of menace and danger. He smiles. It looks unnatural on his face, like he hasn't smiled in a long time. "Amy Waldgrave." He says, stretching out his hand. You shake it. "Boy, did I take the trouble to find you."

"You're another wizard, aren't you?" You ask, but it was barely a question.

"Aye, that I am." The man grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. He reminds you of a hungry hyena. "M'name's Rosier. Avitus Rosier. Nice to meet you." He sits down on your bed. You grimace barely visibly as his dirty black leather clock touches your clean blue cover.

"I broke out of prison to meet you, I did." He takes out his wand and starts polishing it with his cloth, but only succeed in making it dirtier. "To find you."

You clap twice. The room sound-proofs itself. If he's going to be loud, you're not going to let anyone hear. "Why did you want to find me so badly?" You ask the direct question, but in your mind, you wanted to say: _Why was he in prison? Was there a wizarding prison?_

"Well, Dumby's friends probably already told y'all about Hogwarts." He sighs. It takes you a while to figure out he meant Dumbledore.

"Yes, he has." Pausing a little, you recall a bit of conversation you had with the headmaster. "Are you a servant of Lord Voldemort?" Disregarding Dumbledore's advice, you look into his eyes and nodded to yourself. This man is a minion of the Dark Lord.

"Oh, you are a legilimen!" Rosier is clearly taken aback. "And I see that Dumby has taken the trouble to visit you himself. Well, this job is gonna be a little more difficult than I thought."

"Why did you want to see me?" You go back to your original question.

Rosier is silent for a while. Then he speaks up. "I want you to help me. To help the Dark Lord."

You try to keep your face passive. According to Dumbledore, Voldemort is a horrible wizard that has killed hundreds, but was brought down by Harry Potter, a baby boy. In reality, the shock hit you like a train. _You? Why you? There must be someone better than an eleven year old._

"Why do you want _my_ help? There must be someone better than me." You decide that honesty is the best policy.

Rosier stares straight at you. His gaze is like that of a ravenous wolf. "This orphanage's told you nothing, has it." He pauses, thinking. "Well, you have very powerful ancestry. The followers of the Dark Lord like that. You are pureblooded, meeting our requirement." You nod. Dumbledore had said that both of your parents were magical. "And I have found recently that you're very powerful yourself. " He sighs. "But let me tell you this. The true reason we wanted a spy in Hogwarts was because we wanted a spy on Dumbledore. He is the only wizard my Lord feared. Your parents were Dumbledore's best friends. He will be friendly towards you."

You nod your head, understanding a little better. Rosier was shifting a little uncomfortably, and for the first time, he doesn't look that intimidating. "One more question." You need more to make up your mind, and you hate yourself a little for this. Normally people would immediately say no. Your adventurous spirit and your low morality forbid you to, however. "Why should I help you?"

Rosier straightens a little. "Look around you. Look at this world." You hear the pride in his voice. He sounds zealous of his belief. You aren't sure you are. "Muggles runs this world, while us wizards hide. It's all upside down. Muggles should fear the supreme wizards, not the other way around. We wizards should not be ashamed of what we are. Muggles should accept it. Does your- roommates- not make fun of who you are? Think you are a freak?" He grins a little at the look on your face. "I'm right, ain't I?"

You do not speak. Rosier makes an impatient tutting sound. "Tick tock, it's decision time. What do you believe in, who do you serve?"

You close your eyes. Your mind is racing, hearting beating against your ribcage. You are about to make most likely the most important choice of your life, and the response you are considering is definitely a risky move. You can lose your life. You decide to take that chance.

"The one I always have." Your voice is as solid as a rock. Rosier's grin fades a little. _He thinks I'm serving the muggles!_ You think in your head. "The highest bidder." He regains his confident. "What can you and your Dark Lord give me in return?"

His grin widens, showing his gross gums. "Fame, glory, and respect. Think about it, if you do your job well, I am convinced that my Lord will regain power and control. You will become his right hand for your contributions. That is more than what Dumbledore can ever offer."

You close your heart again. You hated those who calls you freaks, and this time, it's your revenge. You can reverse everything, making magic the norm, and never be excluded. When you open your eyes, your expression is fierce. "Then that makes you the highest bidder."

You extend your hand and Rosier shakes it with his own, still grinning widely. It does not soften his features but makes him more crazed and wild. "When you get to Hogwarts, talk to Professor Snape. Ask him for help. He was an insider, but I'm not sure where his loyalty is now. Speak my name and he'll understand." He suddenly grasps your hand tightly, and you feel a burning sensation on your left forearm. You gasp, and gingerly lifts up your sleeve, to reveal a jet black tattoo of a skull with a snake as a tongue. "Your Dark Mark. Tap on the Snake's head to hide it, on the skull to reveal it. Press against the body to summon the Dark Lord. Of course, that's not gonna work now."

Still grinning wider than ever, he takes a step back, turns on his heels, and disappeared with a loud pop just like Dumbledore. You shake your head. _How are you going to explain his disappearance to Mrs. Jones?_ Shaking your head again, you decide to first wash your bed sheet.

 **Author's Note: I would like to say a word of thanks to everyone that is reading this, because you have stuck with me or Amy until at least the fourth chapter. Please like or follow, I worked hard on this. Please review if you feel like I did a good job or if I need to fix something. I look forward to publishing more.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Just posted this a little late this week, was busy with a project. But here it is now, enjoy! :)**

Chapter 5: The Adventure Launches

The next few days were filled with deep pondering and anxious pacing. You cannot charge headfirst into the mission Rosier had given you, you need a plan. He had said to talk to a certain Professor Snape, but you don't even know who he is. Dumbledore was familiar with you in Diagon Alley, but he distanced himself in the end. After a few days, you decide to let it rest until you get to Hogwarts, and familiar yourself with the situation.

However, today is August 31st, and tomorrow will be the day you've anticipated with increasing impatience for more than a month. Today, you can finally start packing. You made sure to have at least memorized all the incantations in Standard Book of Spells. Even if you weren't born in a magical environment, you'll still have a head start.

You've folded all of your clothes except for those on your back into a leather trunk with a Hogwarts crest, and stacked all the books neatly into a corner. The cauldron sits in the other corner, and in it holds you collapsable telescope, scales, and some nice crystal phials. The new robe you bought was on the top of the stack, along with the enchanted cardigan and tie. You're going to change into them on the train. However, you decided to not put your wand, which you've learned to cast a few spells with, in the trunk, but keep it in your pocket. You do need to buy jeans with deeper pockets- it protrude from the pocket by several inches, and jabs you in the ribs every time you sit.

Right now, you are sitting on the edge of your newly cleaned bed, foot tapping impatiently. What to do to pass time? You've made sure to have eaten all of Dumbledore's birthday cake, and got several of your friends a goodbye gift, using money you've saved over the past few month. You've found out you're rich anyway, so a few pounds wouldn't matter. But right now, you have nothing to do, and you anxiety is growing every minute. What if they suddenly said they made a mistake? What if you suddenly wake up, and finds that it's all a dream?

It's barely one pm, so you decide to go out for a walk alone. You'll bring some money and sit for a coffee. You stop tapping your foot and stand up, walking down stairs. Mrs. Jones looks up from a small stack of papers, rectangular spectacles perched on her nose.

"Where are you going, Amy?" She asks. She's not going to stop you, just to know that you're not going to be in trouble.

"Just going for a walk. A little nervous." You found years ago that sometimes, it is easier to tell the truth.

"You'll be fine. They've already gave you their offer." She looks down at her papers again. You walk towards the front door. "Just be back before dark."

"I will." You respond, and step out of the door and into the slightly chilly autumn air. Cars zoom by on the street. The sky is cloudy, like usual. It would be very rare if London ever have a sunny day. You turn to your left, and slowly make your way to a very famous coffee shop called Prufrock. Despite its fame, it is usually a quiet little shop with very few people that enjoy the same silence you cherish. It is not far off, only a ten minutes walk.

(A while later)

You sit at a small table with bare wood against the wall, sipping your freshly brewed latte. You've brought a book to read: Macbeth, one of your personal favorites. You've bought a particular small book, small enough to fit into your pocket. If you don't think about your current problems, you would think that life can't be sweeter.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of a chair scraping against the tiles. You looks up, and there is a man sitting across from you, smiling a smile that made crinkles around his eye. He has a purple scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Hi there!" The man greets you enthusiastically. "I'm Elliot Jugson. Nice to meet you." You nod a hello, but eyes his scarf suspiciously. In the History of Magic, it said that witches or wizards often wear green or purple to distinguish themselves when blending in with Muggles. Or you're just being paranoid, and he just has eccentric taste. "Can I sit here?" Well, he's already sitting there, isn't he?

"Of course. I'm Amy, by the way. Amy waldgrave." Your greeting was not as enthusiastic.

Elliot leans in closely. "Say," he whispers, "Have you gotten your letter yet?"

There is an alarm going off in your head that is screaming "!" over and over again, but you try your best to keep your face blank. Maybe he's just talking about a normal letter.

"What letter?" But a little bit of your surprise must have shown, because Elliot laughed quietly.

"Don't worry, I know." He points to his scarf. "See? Wizard."

You are taken aback. After you've gotten your letter, you keep meeting wizards everywhere. Who else around you can be magical? How many are out there? The world is smaller than you thought.

You swallow hard. "How did you know?"

Elliot laughs again. "I saw you lighting your hands on fire last winter. Nice fires, by the way, green's my favorite color." He grins. "But it was kind of obvious. You got several weird and alarmed looks. Impressive, but not subtle."

You laugh a little, like him. "I'm so excited to go. I literally can't wait." You tell him.

"I was the same when I was your age. I'm a muggle-born, if you couldn't tell." Well, yes, he is dressing normally, except for that fluorescent purple scarf.

(Late in the afternoon)

You still have a big grin on your face when you step back into the gate of the bleak orphanage. Elliot is a whimsical and joyous fellow, and his enthusiasm is slowly rubbing off on you. He cracked many a jokes, and you had spent the entire afternoon talking about your childhood and his Hogwarts life. Although he was almost thirty-five, he still behaves like a young boy. You like Elliot, you decide. You're going to keep him.

You take one last look at the almost-setting sun, a brilliant orange in color, and opened the door to the orphanage. The same bespectacled Mrs. Jones looks up at you, with a slightly smaller stack of paper. You dim your grin into a smile.

"Right on time." Mrs. Jones glances at the clock. "Five minutes until dinner. You seem to be in a good mood," She inquires.

"Yes. Met someone at a coffee shop." You think for a second. If you go upstairs to your room, then you wouldn't even settle down before someone calls for dinner. "I'll just hang out down here." You head for the common room.

Sam is already there, desperately trying to explain to a little boy why pigs don't moo. The kid isn't getting it. He stands up from his kneeling position when he sees you.

"Oh, hey Amy." He looks so done you tried hard not to laugh. The toddler trots off, muttering "the pig goes moo" under his breath. "Where've you been?"

"Just at a coffee shop." _Meeting another wizard,_ you wanted to add. You hold yourself back. "Today's my last day."

"You sound like you're going to die or something." He starts to clean up the toys a little. You bend down to help him. "You're still coming back for the summer."

"Aren't you going to miss me?" Despite your newly developed hate for muggles, Sam was something else. He was quirky, sarcastic, sometimes kind, and definitely very stubborn. You love him fro his flaws, and you two were the very best of friends.

"A little, probably." He thinks. "Well probably a lot. You know I love you."

"Yeah, I'll miss you tooo." The meal bell rings in the dining room. Your little moment is disrupted.

"Come on, I'm starving." You two head for the sound of the bells.

"You're always hungry. But you don't grow a gram." And it was true- Sam is as skinny as bare bone, and his great height doesn't help. A mess of long, chin length jet black hair with big, stumbling curls sit atop his head, reaching down to his eyebrows, shadowing his eyes, and setting a contrast with his vampire-ish pale skin. Over all, he looks like a cute emo mushroom.

Sitting at the dinner table, you make a quick announcement that this is going to be your last day. A few people make an "aww" sound, but most were silent, some even looking relieved. Those, you want to destroy.

And with that dark thought kept in your mind, you finish the rest of the day- eating, reading, checking packing, and finally, sleeping. You hope for a brighter tomorrow.

At first, you think that you're never going to fall asleep- you are simply too excited. You keep your eyes shut and even out your breathing: 3 seconds in, 3 seconds out, 3 seconds in, 3 seconds out… and you fall into an uneasy rest.

You dream of Rosier, his lined face twisting into a snarl. Behind him stands a figure, hooded by the shadow, tall and slim, radiating darkness, and much more terrifying than even Rosier. He has a deep and gravelly voice, which were equally terrifying as his shadowed appearance.

"You have failed me." The figure raises a hand. "For the first and last time."

There was a flash of green light accompanied with a scream. you sit up and suck in a deep breath, inhaling the cold air that drags you out of the nightmare.

(A while later)

Mrs. Jones sent someone to drive you to King's Cross Station, given that it is a bit far. You push the cart carrying the trunk with the Hogwarts crest towards the barrier between platform 9 and 10, which looks very solid to you. You look around to make sure that no one's watching, and see that another weirdly dressed family of five is heading this way. Must be another wizarding family. Taking a deep breath, you set off at a running pace directly into the brick wall, and close your eyes at the last moment, bracing yourself for collision.

It never came. You open your eyes, and a scarlet steam engine greets your site. A sign overhead said "Hogwarts express, eleven o'clock. " You look behind you to see a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. Smoke from the engine drifts over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wind here and there between their legs. Owls hoots to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. You made it. You're really going to Hogwarts, to study magic. You feel like punching the air and yelling "hooray", but you keep all that inside you and settling instead for a wide grin. Pushing your cart with a newly wrought force, you head onto the train, and look for an empty compartment.

You find an empty carriage at the very back, and heave your trunk up the steps and onto the rack with a grunt. You are surprisingly strong for your size, and those who underestimate you suffer greatly for it. Breathing heavily, you sit down on the red cushion seats. There is a small table between the two sides. You fold your arms across your chest and slump down, stretching out your legs. If it's going to be a long ride, you're going to make yourself comfortable.

There comes a sudden knocking on the compartment door, and it slides open to reveal a boy with messy black hair and violently green eyes. He too is carrying a large trunk, and panting from the exertion.

"Hi," The boy says. "Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

"No, not at all." You watch as he struggles to lift the trunk higher than his thighs. "Need a hand?"

"Yes, please." You grab the other side of his trunk and basically throws it up onto the rack with a grunt barely audible over the loud thump it made. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." You sit yourself back down again, much less relaxed this time. "I'm Amy, by the way, Amy Waldgrave."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter." The boy puts down a cage containing an owl under his seat.

You feel your eyebrow rise involuntarily. This is the Harry Potter? The one that defeated the Dark Lord? You thought that he would be more impressive. For the time being, you decide not to indicate that you know about him. You just nod your head instead.

"So where do you come from?" You ask casually. You think you have to befriend this boy and gain his trust, as a bonus to spying on Dumbledore.

"Surrey, it's just outside of London." He is gently cooing at the snowy owl inside his cage.

"Oh, I know Surrey. I lived in London. In an orphanage. Parents died." You add. According to what you know, Harry Potter's parents were murdered. You try to throw out as many similarities as possible.

"I'm sorry. My parents are dead too." Harry is silent for a while. You think you've got the boy's attention, for he settles down and looks at you in the eye."How is it, living in an orphanage?"

"Miserable. But I suppose it could be worse. I'm allowed to do my own stuff most of the time, so I guess that's a big plus." You play with the armrest a little, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"You're lucky. I lived with my aunt and uncle." He smiles a little, looking too innocent to be the boy that killed Lord Voldemort. "They are against magic or anything out of ordinary. They tried to stomp the magic out of me by never telling me that I'm a wizard and being horrible to me in every way." He grins widely, in a truly happy sort of way. "I'm so glad I'm away from them now."

Before you can say anything else, however, the compartment door slides open again. A red haired boy with a smudge on his long, freckled nose peaks in. His clothes does not fit well on his tall and lanky body.

"Anyone sitting here?" He asks, pointing to the seat next to Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

You and Harry both shake your head and the boy sits down, leaning against the wall next to the door. You see him glance quickly at Harry and away, pretending that he didn't look. He probably just recognized him as Harry Potter.

"Hey, Ron." An obvious pair of identical twins peak their heads in the compartment simultaneously. They are only slightly taller than the boy called Ron, but less lanky. "Listen, we're going down the middle of the train - Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right." Ron mumbles.

"Harry," says the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," Harry says. With a glance and a short nod in your direction, the twins slides shut the compartment door behind them.

Realizing that no one introduced you, you decide to do it yourself. "Amy waldgrave, by the way, nice to meet you." You shake hands with Ron. You see him slightly cocking an eyebrow.

"I've heard my father talking about the waldgraves." Apparently there's something the redhead isn't telling you, because his ears turned pink and he stopped talking. Then he turns to Harry. "Are you really Harry Potter?" He blurts out.

Harry only nodds.

"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," Ron blushes a little. "And have you really got - you know..." He points at Harry's forehead. If this was all back at the orphanage, Ron would have gotten death glares from Mrs. Jones.

Harry says nothing, but pulls back his bangs to reveal a lightning shaped scar that still looks angry and new, even though you know that he got it as a baby.

"So that's where You-Know-Who- "

"Yes, but I can't remember anything." Harry cuts him off.

"Nothing?" The boy asks eagerly.

"Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

 _Ah, yes,_ you think, _that will be the killing curse._ A memory of that will last a lifetime. You decide to play up the fool again.

"I'm sorry, what is this?" You try to sound quizzical.

"Oh, are you a muggleborn?" Ron asks you, sounding almost genuinely interested.

"No, raised by muggles, though." You respond.

"Oh. Well, this is a little hard to explain..." He thinks for a while. "I'm not sure I should be the one telling you."

"This man, Lord Voldemort-"

Harry takes to explaining instead, but is interrupted with a loud gasp from Ron.

"You said his name!" He exclaims loudly, like that's something completely abnormal. You don't quite understand why.

"I'm not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name," Harry says, " I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn... I bet that I'm the worst in my class." He finishes gloomily.

"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough." Ron comforts Harry a little. You think you won't have that problem, because you literally read all of the textbooks during the summer.

The conversation is carried on by mostly Harry and Ron for the next few moments. They talked about family- Ron's six siblings and Harry's muggle uncle, and about Ron's grey rat, Scabbers, which was fast asleep even when Ron roughly pulled it out of his pocket. For the most part, you just stare out the window of the train, which carried them out of London while they were talking. Outside was miles and miles of green fields starting to turn yellow, and sheeps grazing on the grass. Unconsciously, you tap against where you now know the head of the dark mark would be. You feel something slither on your arm, from your elbow to your hand, and know that the ugly black tattoo is invisible now. Your worst fear for the past month was that someone would see the mark, magical or not, and reveal your secret.

When it is a little past noon, you hear some clattering outside of the corridor, where a short, plump witch with a sweet smile and dimples slides open your door.

"Anything off the cart, dear?" She asks, looking from you to Harry and Ron.

Ron mutters something about having brought sandwiches, but Harry leaps to his feet, his pocket jingling with coins. You stand up too, and fish out your purse. He excitedly asks for a Mars Bar, a common sweet, but the trolley lady gives him a confused look.

"We don't have 'Mars Bars'," She says in a puzzled tone. "Perhaps try a Pumpkin Pastry instead?"

Sitting down again, you wait a little while Harry seems to buy a little bit of everything, and Ron's ear turn pink as he realizes he is staring at the golden galleons in Harry's hands. When he finally returns to the compartment once more, his arms are full of all kinds of sweets and candy, most of which you have never seen.

You step into the corridor to buy your own share- you became hungry half an hour ago even though you've eaten a full parting breakfast- but the trolley witch only shakes her head, and pulls the cart back in the direction it came from. You turn into the compartment again.

"It seems like you've bought the entire cart." You slump down on the cushion seats again, staring at all the candy Harry's tipped onto their side of the compartment. Your stomach rumbles quietly but surely, protesting at the sight of all the food you can not eat- so close, yet so far away.

"We can share," Harry says, holding up a purple package labeled "Pumpkin Pasty" and tossing it to you.

"Thanks." You catch the sweet and rip open the packaging, to reveal something that looks like a flatter cupcake. "What's this?"

"Pumpkin Pasties," Ron answers, his voice muffled by his mouthful of the same sweet. "Basically pumpkin-mush filled muffins. Try them, they're good." He stares lovingly into his pasty.

You bite into one cautiously. Hot, steamy mush poured into your mouth in greater quantities than you thought the small pasty would hold. It tastes like cornish pasties, which you often sneak from the kitchen using your invisibility spell, but with pumpkin filling instead. You involuntarily close your eyes, and realize that you're probably going to get blisters later.

When you open your eyes again, Harry was holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "What are those?" He asks Ron. "They're not real frogs, are they?"

You pick one up too and open it. Inside, a tiny frog no bigger than a fifty pence coin hops out onto your hand. You raise an eyebrow at it. Not much surprise you anymore, but this seems like advanced wizarding nonsense right here.

"No," Answers Ron. "But see what the card is."

"What?" You exclaim.

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know - Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect - famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy." Ron is munching on a pasty again.

You take another look inside the package, and notice a pentagon shaped purple card sitting inside. Taking that out, you shove the frog sitting on your hand into your mouth. It stops moving the moment it touches your lips. It tastes just like regular chocolate. You turn the card around and see a middle aged medieval monk staring at you, with a quill in his hand.

"I've got Agrippa," you say, reading the name off of the card. _Cornelius Agrippa lived from 1486 to 1535. He wrote books about magic and wizards. Some important people thought his books were evil, so they put him in gaol for writing them,_ It says on the back. You look up at Ron. "You wanna trade?"

He gratefully hands you his card- Morgana- and you give him yours.

"Great! Now I'm just missing Ptolemy."

"I've got Dumbledore!" Harry suddenly exclaims. "So this is what he looks like." You glance at his hands, and spot the familiar silver beard and half moon glasses.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Dumbledore," Ron groans, and eyes the rest of the pile greedily.

"Help yourself." Harry continues to read the back of Dumbledore's card, where the information is.

"He was the one that came to tell me about Hogwarts." You reach for another pumpkin pasty.

"Really?" Ron raises an eyebrow at you, and pulls a skeptical expression. "The headmaster? Usually it's the deputy headmistress, Mcgonagall, or some other professor, or even the groundskeeper, Hagrid-"

"That's who told me," Harry interrupts, now staring intensely at a box of jelly beans.

"Yeah, they don't usually get the Headmaster to do it, much less Dumbledore." A proud smile spreads along his face. "He's the greatest Headmaster we're ever going to have."

"He said something about knowing my parents," You recall.

"That must be it, then." He resumes munching.

"He's gone!" Harry has turned over the Dumbledore card again, and sure enough, the portrait is empty.

"Well, you can't expect him to stick around all day," Ron responds, looking unfazed. "He'll be back, don't worry."

"I've read about wizarding portraits in our textbooks," You think back to your summer cramming. "They're enchanted to behave like the person they depict. They can move around too, and visit other portraits of them or near them."

"But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos." Harry says.

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounds amazed. "Weird!"

Dumbledore slips into Harry's card again, and he gives him a small smile. Ron, on the other hand, is more interested in eating the frogs than reading the cards, but you can't keep your eyes off them. Soon everyone has a small pile of cards, and you are staring at Merlin, rumored to be the greatest wizard of all times, who is scratching his nose. Harry reaches for the box he was staring at before and opens it.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean," He reads, and for some reason, the name gives Ron an alarmed look.

"That's a very alarming name," _Especially coming from a wizarding producer,_ you think to yourself.

"You have to be careful with those," Ron warns Harry, confirming your theory. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor - you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger flavored one once."

He picks up a green one, looks at it carefully, and bites into a corner.

"Blaaargh -" He exclaims, "See? Sprouts."

You had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. You got coffee, marshmallow, almond, cranberry, curry, apple, and countless others, including a suspicious gray one that neither Harry nor Ron would touch since they've just eaten another grey one that was pepper, which turned out to be dirty socks.

The countryside now flying past the window is becoming wilder. The neat fields are gone. Now there are woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

"Anyway," Ron says as you finish the box of beans and are too scared to open the second one, "I tried to turn Scabbers yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. Here, I'll show you..."

He rummages around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway -"

He had just raised his wand when the door to the compartment slides open to reveal a small girl, followed by a black haired boy who is looking teary.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville here's lost one." She has a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth. She's already changed into her robes.

You all shake your heads, but she isn't looking. Instead, her gaze is fixed on Ron's wand.

"Oh, you're doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sits down. Ron looks a little taken aback, but raises his wand nonetheless.

"Um, alright." He clears his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waves his wand, but nothing happens. Scabbers stays grey and fast asleep. Ron looks a bit sheepish. You're not sure what he expected to happen. Surely he knows that spells aren't poems, growing up in a wizarding family?

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Says the girl. ""Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said all that very fast, and it takes a while for you to process. The textbook part you can relate to, but a glance at Ron's and Harry's faces tells you that they don't.

"I'm Ron Weasley." Ron mutters.

"Amy Waldgrave, pleased to meet you." She nods at you. You have a feeling you're going to become good friends.

"Harry Potter."

"Oh, are you really?" Hermione says. ""I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" Harry sounds a little dazed. Perhaps it seems strange to him that a girl he barely knows know more about him than he himself does.

"Goodness, you don't know. I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Says Hermione. ""Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And with that she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Wow, geez." It is your only response.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," says Ron. He throws his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell - George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"Here, I bet I can -" You reach for Ron's rat and place it on your lap. Both Ron and Harry sit straighter, looking interested. "What's the latin word for yellow again?"

"Flarium, or something like that." Harry responds, eyes fixed on the rat through his spectacles.

"Right."

You whip out your wand from your pockets, which you enchanted to make it bigger on the inside. Ron lets out a little gasp.

"What?" You ask him.

"Is that red oak?" He asks incredulously, eyes expanding to be the size of a coin.

"Yeah," you admit.

"Wow."

Ollivander said that red oak wands are powerful, but you didn't know that it was a well known fact.

"Well, here goes." You point your wand at the fat grey rat, still asleep on your lap.

"Scrugio flarium!" You shout, imagining it colored with a canary yellow.

A bright spark shoots from your wand towards Scabbers, and a loud bang is emitted, covering up what might have been a yelp from Ron. Smoke fills the area, blinding you.

"Phew, bangs and smokes magic." You scold yourself. You learned from your textbook that most spells are silent, and loud bangs are signs of poor magic.

But when you look at the little critter again, it was covered with large yellow polka dots and positively awake, little feet padding against your jeans.

"Meh, close enough."

You wave the smoke away, and hands the rat back to Ron, whose jaw was hanging open. He receives the rat and stares at it with wonder.

"Well, you've definitely made him more interesting." Ron gulps.

Harry leans over and stares at Scabbers with the same expression on his face, and eventually extends a hand to poke one of the yellow dots.

"It's real fur," He exclaims.

You don't know what he expected.

However, your little moment was interrupted by someone else sliding open the compartment door again, but it wasn't Hermione or the toadless boy, Neville, again.

Three boys enter the little compartment. The middle one is the most striking - he is a pale boy, even paler than Ron and without the freckles, and has the blondest hair you have ever seen. His equally pale lips pursed together and immediately makes you dislike him. His posture gives him an air of arrogance. Standing on either side of him like body guards, and were some of the most thickset and mean looking boys you have ever seen.

"Is it true?" The blonde boy says. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes." Harry is looking at the other two boys.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Says the pale boy carelessly, like they were slaves or something. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gives a slight cough, which might have been hiding a giggle. Draco Malfoy looks over at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron's ears turn pink at this comment, looking furious. You are afraid that he might do something stupid.

"And you," Malfoy turns to you, responding to your confused expression. "You must be a muggleborn."

Even though your face twitches with disgust at this comment, you make it relax and give a thin smile. "No, not at all. Should be the exact opposite."

"Oh?" The blonde boy gives a sneer. "Well then, what's your last name?"

With more confidence than you feel, you respond, "Waldgrave. I suppose you've heard of it."

To your utter surprise, colors drain further from Malfoy's pale face, if that's even possible, giving it a ghost like appearance.

"A Waldgrave?" He licks his lips nervously. "But father says that the Waldgrave line died off at Jonathan and Eleanor! They didn't have a child!"

A little satisfied at this, you give what you hope might be a sinister smile.

"Well, it looks like your father was wrong."

Malfoy tries to regain his confidence as he turns back to Harry.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He extends his hand to shake. You scream a warning at Harry with all your mind's might. He didn't take it, thank god.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Harry responds coolly. You scream inside, but this time it's appreciation for the sass.

Malfoy didn't go red, but pink tinges appear in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," He says slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the 87 Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Harry and Ron immediately stands up. You join them only a second later.

"Say that again," Ron says hotly, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneers again. If only he knows what you can do!

"Unless you get out now." You admire Harry for his bravery - both Crabbe and Goyle are at least two times his size.

"Don't make me jinx you."

You run the textbooks through your mind, looking for an appropriate spell. Nothing too serious, but humiliating. It should wear off in a few minutes. You close your eyes to search in the back of your mind. Finally, you've got it.

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reaches for the box of chocolate frogs next to Ron. Big mistake. Your wand was out in a flash.

"Protego!" You shout, waving your wand incredibly fast, recalling the hours of practice you did in the orphanage.

A well placed shielding spell sends the three boys flying backwards, crashing into the opposite door and groaning. They made no attempts to get up. The shielding charm flickers and dies, and you point your wand at the three of them.

They struggle up, helping one another and trying not to step on the puddle of black robes. The two stupid hunks tries to lunge at you again.

"Rictumsempra!" A flash. "Tarantallegra!" Another flash.

The spells hit their targets in a shower of sparks, knocking them backwards again. Both of them suddenly starts a series of rapid movements - with Crabbe yelping loudly and twisting on the ground while Goyle starts some kind of an Irish jiggle.

People were emerging from their compartments to stare and at the ridiculous scenario, all the while giggling and laughing. Malfoy scrambles up and backs away, only to stop before he hits the opposite door. His face is the color of ashes.

"Don't come back here again."

You shove your wand back into your pocket, and think of a final way to insert your dominance. You decide to show off a bit.

"Or I'll teach you a real lesson."

With a slow wave of your hand so that people can see that there is no wand in your hand, you set a corner of Malfoy's robe on fire, big enough to be alarming, but small enough so that it can be extinguished. All three of them disappeared at once, leaving only howling laughter and a standing ovation in their wake. You take a dramatic bowl towards all the smiling faces peeking out of the doors and turn back into your compartment, sliding shut the door.

Harry and Ron are still standing up. The whole thing had been over in a minute, and they have been trying to see as well as the others. They are both staring at you with dropped jaws and a mixture of awe and horror on their faces. You give them a shrug, wearing a " _well, what can you do_ " expression.

"That was amazing," breathed Harry.

"Well, they've definitely underestimated you," says Ron.

"Yes, but you're going to get in trouble on _the first day!_ " A bossy voice behind you says.

Ron gives you a look of disbelief. You turn around, and sees that Hermione is back _again_.

"Oh, like I care about the rules." You wave the statement away. "You saw what I did, do I look like I care about the rules."

"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asks Harry, completely ignoring Hermione.

Harry explains that he's met him briefly in Diagon Alley while he was being measured up by Madame Malkin. He sounds exactly like the kind of boy you expect him to be- arrogant, spoiled, and very rude. The kind of boy that needs to be taught a lesson.

"I've heard of his family," Ron says darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turns to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. Trust me, you'll be in trouble before we even get their!"

"Malfoy was giving us some trouble." You answer simply. Perhaps this will be your understatement of the day. "Don't worry, we're fine now."

"And, would you mind leaving while we change?" Ron adds with a stiff scowl.

"All right - I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," Hermione says is a kind of sniffy voice. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

And with that, she turns and left, leaving Ron glaring at her.

You glance out of the window. It's getting dark, and you can see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train does seem to be slowing down.

"She's right, you know. We should start changing."

You take off your jacket and pull on the long black robe and tie up your tie, enchanted to change color as soon as you are sorted. Ron's robe was a bit short for him, you can see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoes through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

You don't know whether you should be nervous, but Harry certainly looks like it. His hands are clutched over his stomach, and his eyes are darting everywhere. You glance at Ron, and see that he is pale under his freckles. You don't know what the heck they're nervous about - their magical abilities are definitely real. You cram your pockets with the last of the sweets and join the crowd out in the corridor.

The train slows down and finally stops. The students push their way out onto a tiny, unlit platform. You see some of the younger students push towards a tall, looming shadow and follow the crowd. The cold night air is chilly enough to make you light your hands on fire, cocking several gasps from the crowd.

"Are you alright?" A concerned, panicking voice drifts over.

"Yes, this is voluntary and under control."

You hold your hands up and shows the boy that it is not burning hot, but only a slight warmth. The fire lights up his face, revealing the toadless boy. He flinches a little, and you giggle, moving ahead.

A lamp comes, bobbing above the sea of heads. When you focus on it, you notice the looming shadow following it - and a giant, hairy face emerge from the shadow, at least 9 feet up. The other first-years form a small huddle around him, some cowering with fear. He would look very intimidating, if not for the enormous grin displaying on his face, making him beam brighter than the lamp.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Swinging his lamp violently to attract attention, he waves a few more boys to him. "C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

All of the little heads swarm forward, following him down what feels like a steep, narrow path. It was slippery and wet, and you keep smelling the sweet stench of a mass body of water. You imagine it to be a lake. It was unbelievably dark - there must be thick trees around. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the toadless boy besides you, sniffed once or twice.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid calls over his huge shoulders like some welsh tour guide. "Jus' round this bend here."

"Oh!" You exclaim in surprise.

You were not the only one. Students all around you oohed and ahhed about, for before you the path opens suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a great castle with numerous turrets and towers. The sight was magnificent and wonderful to behold.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls out, pointing to a little fleet of small, wooden boats sitting by the shore that had definitely not been their a moment ago. You follow Harry and Ron into a boat, later joined by Hermione. "Everyone in?" Shouts Hagrid, sitting in a boat by himself. "Righ' then, FORWARD!"

And the little fleet of boats moves off at once, gliding across the water like glass. Everyone was silent. You stare up at the castle towering over you, and wonder if you will be able to call this place "home". The boats sail straight for the cliff on which the castle stands.

"Heads down!" Hagrid yells as the boats approaches the cliff. You all bend your heads and the little boats carries you through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. You are carried along a dark tunnel, which seems to be taking you right underneath the castle, until you reach a kind of underground harbor, where all the students clamber out onto rocks and pebbles.

Hagrid checks the boats as everyone leaves. "Oi, there!" He gestures to Neville. "Is this your toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville cries blissfully, holding out both of his hands. A dark shape jumps onto them.

Giggles are heard all around. Under the light of your fire hands, you see Neville blush and shove his little creature into the pocket of his robes.

You climb up a passageway carved out of stone, following the light of Hagrid's bobbing lamp, onto damp, slippery grass in the shadow of the castle. Everyone walks up the last flight of stone steps and crowd around the huge oak double doors.

"Everyone here? You there, you still got your frog?"

A murmur of agreement, then silence. Hagrid raises his gigantic fist and knocks three times on the castle door. The sound rings out and fades away into the darkness.

 **Alright! So Amy and friends makes it into the castle in once piece. Get ready for inside and the sorting, next week. I'm probably going to post on time, no promises though.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I feel like I haven't posted for a long time, even though it's only been 2 weeks. This story isn't getting very popular, so I would appreciate it if you guys can tell me what I can do better?**

Chapter 6: The Feast

The door swings open immediately, like someone has been waiting for your arrival, which there probably was. A tall, black haired witch in emerald-green robes looking no older than sixty stands in the doorway. However, you've learned that wizards often live longer and look younger than they are. She has a very stern face, and the first thought that comes to your mind is that this is not someone to cross. You immediately extinguish your hands.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." Hagrid greets her.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall even has a very strict voice. It's like she was created to be a teacher.

She pulls the door wide open. The entrance hall was so big it can hold a whole house if it wanted to. Torches lined the walls like Gringott, and the ceiling was too high to make out well. A magnificent marble staircase leads to the upper floors, whose torches are currently out.

The new students follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. The drone of hundreds of voices can be heard through a doorway to the right, but Professor McGonagall shows all of you to a small chamber off the hall. The first years huddle together in a small circle, closer together than you feel comfortable with, many of you peering about nervously. The room is dimly lit, and you can barely make out anymore than the chess-patterned black and white floor. Professor McGonagall regards you sternly.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry," says the professor. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

 _Like a proper home, with many siblings._ You think to yourself.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which is fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. You see Harry desperately trying to flatten his hair, which is a losing battle, and hold back a giggle.

You wear a smug grin on your lips. Rosier had told you that you would be a Slytherin - all of the death eaters were. But the expression is immediately wiped off your face on your second thought - wouldn't it be better if you become a Gryffindor, which never produced a single dark wizard? No one will suspect you. You decide to take your chance and make your way into Gryffindor. According to A History of Hogwarts, students are sorted by the sorting hat, which is sentient and will read one's mind. So if you can fool the hat - well, you can be in whichever house you want. Just don't let it into your mind, like Morrigan told you.

Speaking of Morrigan, the old raven hasn't visited you for the last few days. What is she doing? You've seen her everyday for at least a year. Perhaps she is at Hogwarts already, waiting for you.

"I shall return when we are ready for you." Professor McGonagall turns around and head for the door. "Please wait quietly."

As soon as she left, the room bursts into furious whispers. People are looking petrified, and asking around how they will be sorted into houses. Seriously, has anyone read their textbooks? At least the Muggleborns should have, how can they not be curious?

You ignore the controlled chaos and close your eyes, clearing your mind like the old raven taught you to. You leave all your worries and thoughts behind and sit atop the clouds, and look down at your old problems with disgust, like a gardener looking at thorns. Taking a deep breath, you - are rudely interrupted by several screams and a collective gasp. You feel a cold gust blowing on your body and open your eyes.

People around you are looking horrified and you understand why. About twenty pearly white and transparent figures streams through the wall, gliding in the air, talking to each other, and barely noticing the first years.

"Ghosts!" You gasp out loud and laugh. You've read about the ghosts in A History of Hogwarts - they seem to have a rich history, many of them minor historic figures. There's also a poltergeist called Peeves, and he's not exactly a ghost. He's never been alive, he just sort of - came to be. He is known for wreaking havoc and pranking both staff and students.

Two of them seem to be arguing. ""Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -" What seems like a fat little monk says.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost that looks like it jumped straight out of a Shakespearean play suddenly notices all of the little first years.

No one answers, too intimidated to do anything.

"New students!" The Fat Friar says, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

There are a few nods, you one of them.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" Says the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," A sharp voice says in the back. You turn around to see Professor McGonagall back again. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

One by one, the ghosts drift through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," She tells all of you. "And follow me."

All of the first years obey immediately. You follow Ron, who is behind Harry, having a bad feeling that you are maybe making friends with the infamous Harry Potter, your enemy. You walk out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

And the light from thousands of floating candles pour across your face, giving you a feeling that you've stepped into heaven. The candles are floating over four long tables, representing the four houses, where the rest of the students were sitting, and not dripping wax at all. If you thought the chocolate frogs were advanced wizarding nonsense, this is definitely elite wizarding nonsense. These tables are laid with golden plates and goblets - and you wonder why gold is so expensive in the muggle world. At the top of the hall is another long table where the teachers are sitting - and you nearly laugh out loud at the variety in the teachers' appearances. From the gigantic Hagrid to another professor the height of a goblin, and from the wise looking Dumbledore to a bespectacled woman that makes her eyes look like bug eyes.

Professor McGonagall leads all of you up there, so that you come to a halt in a line facing the older students, with the teachers behind you. The hundreds of faces staring up at you looks like pale lanterns in the flickering candle light. Dotted here and there between the students, the ghosts shine misty silver. You wear a faint smile, glance up at the ceiling, and stop dead.

You have read that the ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to look like the sky outside, but you hadn't know that it would be so magnificent. It was hard to believe that there is a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall doesn't simply open onto the heavens. Stars more numerous than the candles and students combined crowds a velvety black sky, and you can see the faint outline of galaxies. A shining silver moon loom before your eyes, as huge as a salad plate. The craters are as clear as the lines on your palm. This kind of view can only be seen somewhere tucked in the corner of the world, far away from civilization. You decide that you're going to spend hours staring up at this ceiling.

You quickly look down again to see Professor McGonagall places a stool in front of the first years, and plop a dirty, torn old wizard's hat on top of it. It is so muddy you probably wouldn't let it into your room.

"The Sorting Hat," You breath out. The little girl next to you glances sidelong at you in disbelief. You wouldn't believe yourself either if you were in her shoes.

Everyone is staring at the hat, including you. Then suddenly, a rip near its brim opens up like a mouth and it starts _singing._ You did _not_ read about this part of the hat.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on!

Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole Great Hall rings with applause as the Hat finishes its song. You join them, but slightly questionably. Why are you clapping for a hat? But it bows to the four tables and stays still again.

Ron besides you whispers furiously to Harry. "So we've just got to try on the hat! I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

You grin a little, but the hat seems to be very inquisitive, and you're afraid of it questioning your motives. But you'll try your best - it's not absolutely necessary that you be in Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall now steps forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," She says. "Abbott, Hannah."

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, put on the hat, which falls right down over her eyes, and sits down. A moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts out.

The table on the far right claps and cheers as Hannah goes to join their table. _Hufflepuff is for the royal,_ you think, _definitely not for me._

"Bones, Susan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat shouts again. Susan scuttles off to sit with Hannah.

"Boot, Terry."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stands up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them.

 _The wise,_ you summarize. _Probably not for me either. I don't even know how to do math._

After another Ravenclaw, "Brown, Lavender" becomes the first new Gryffindor. The Table on the far left explodes with cheer and applause. You see the red headed twins catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" becomes the first Slytherin. They do look like an unpleasant and grim faced lot. Maybe you have made the right decision to not join Slytherin.

You notice that sometimes the Hat shouts out the answer at once, but sometimes it takes a moment. I Gryffindor, Seamus Finnigan, almost sat there a whole minute before the Hat declared his house. Perhaps some people are harder to read, and has more vastly different personalities.

"Granger, Hermione."

She almost runs to the stool and jams the Hat eagerly on.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron groans.

The Hat takes its particularly long time with Neville Longbottom, the boy who keeps losing his toad. When it finally declares him "GRYFFINDOR!", he runs off to the table with the hat still on, causing gales of laughter.

Malfoy swaggers forward when his name is called. You are proud to see that the corner of his robe is still singed. The Hat is still held above his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

He goes off to join Crabbe and Goyle, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Some other people goes up to the hat - Moon, Nott, Parkinson, and a pair of twins (Patils), then -

"Potter, Harry!"

As the messy-haired boy steps forward, whispers break out throughout the Great Hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

People half stands up to get a craning look at him. _Poor boy,_ you think to yourself. _But he needs no sympathy._ You just hope that he doesn't become arrogant, like Malfoy did.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat finally decides.

An explosion of cheer comes from the Gryffindor table, the loudest one yet. A leader-looking red headed boy stands up and vigorously shakes Harry's hand, completely speechless, while the Weasley twins yell "We got Potter! We got Potter!" He sits down near the ghost in the ruff you saw earlier.

There aren't many people to be sorted by now - you, Ron, and two other boys.

"Thomas, Dean."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Turpin, Lisa."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Waldgrave, Amy."

If you didn't feel nervous before, you certainly do now. When your name was called, there were some murmuring going on throughout the hall, particularly loud in Slytherin. Perhaps they all thought, like Malfoy, that there were no Walgraves left? Well, they're wrong. It's you. You exist.

You use your best confident walk to approach the stool. Professor McGonagall drops the Hat onto your head, and you are drowned in darkness.

You shut your mind completely, blacking it out, which wasn't hard, because you are covered in blackness. A prickling feeling invade your neck, just like the one in Ollivander's shop. You immediately knew that there is no way you can block out the hat - there is strong magic at work. Your palm starts to sweat. You grasp the stool tighter.

"Oh! Oh, what a pleasant surprise. A Waldgrave! Haven't seen one in years. Now, where to put you." A small voice says in your ear.

"You're not going to expose me?" You think to it, surprised.

"Hmm? Expose you as what?"

You realize that the Sorting Hat only knows about things it's been taught or experienced because it's a hat, and hats can't hear about current events.

"Nevermind." You think.

"Then let's keep going, shall we?" A pause. "Oho! Some very mixed opinions, hm? A brilliant mind, filled with talent, yes! Very powerful, very powerful indeed. Both cunning and brave, and certainly determined - oh, very difficult."

The Hat reminds you of Ollivander.

"So what shall it be?"

"I've always wanted to be in Gryffindor." _From like, five minutes ago._

"Are you sure? You'd do well in Slytherin - ruthless, you are. Some of your family were there. No? Alright then, better be -

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word was shouted out, ringing in your ear. You take the Hat off numbly and hand it to Professor McGonagall. You had done it! You fooled the Hat! You walk off towards the far left table, and notice in the back of your mind that they are only giving unsure, polite applause. The leader boy shakes your hand surely and introduced himself as Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, but you sense his nervousness. They're unsure of you, and your Waldgrave line. You take a seat opposite from Harry.

A minute later you are joined by Ron, who is looking a little green in the face. He was just congratulated on his arrival at Gryffindor by his brothers.

When the rest of the students has been sorted, Professor McGonagall rolls up the scroll of names and takes the stool away. Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet and beam at the students, the light in his blue eyes dancing, his arms open, as if nothing can please him more than seeing all of his students here.

"Welcome," he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sits back down. You give a quiet chuckle - he sounds exactly like the whimsical old man you met at your orphanage. Harry across from you, however, looks rather dubious about the old headmaster.

"Is he - a bit mad?" He asks Percy.

"Mad?" Percy responds airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

The plates of the Great Hall suddenly piles up with mounds of food, every kind imaginable - roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy - and some unimaginable ones too, like mint humbug, for some reason.

"House elves," You mutter to yourself as you help yourself to some lamb chops. Again, you've read about them in your textbook. They work in the kitchen, and they have their own special branch of magic, just like the Goblins. They usually belong to a master, unless they are freed by an item of clothing, but they hate freedom. It's a form of punishment, like disowning a child.

"I've always wondered where they are," Hermione, who is sitting next to you, appears to have heard you muttering. "It's nice to see that someone else has read the textbooks."

"Yes, same here." You dig into your lamb chops. Looks like Hermione Granger have mutual feelings for you, too.

"Are you a muggleborn? People that are enthusiastic often are," She asks you, helping herself to some fluffy mashed potatoes.

"No, I'm pureblooded." You try to control the twist of disgust on your face. "I'm raised with them, though. Lived in an orphanage."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She pauses her fork, unsure of what to do.

"It doesn't matter." Comes your reply.

"That does look good." A nearby ghost drifts over to Harry's side, pointedly watching Harry cut up his steak. It is the ghost in the ruff and tights you saw earlier.

"Can't you - ?" Harry turns his head to look at the ghost.

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," says the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Says Ron. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy -" the ghost begins stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupts him.

"Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Both you and Hermione starts mutely shaking your heads at him before he could finish, but to no effect. He continues anyway, because he doesn't care that someone obviously thinks it's a bad idea.

Sir Nicholas looks extremely miffed, as if the little chat isn't going at all the way he wanted it to.

"Like this." He seizes his left ear and pulls, immediately leading to his head swing off his neck and falling onto his shoulder as if there is a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."

You all look over to see a blood-covered ghost sitting next to Malfoy at the Slytherin. His gaunt face holds blank eyes that stares emptily into space. You are pleased to see that Malfoy doesn't look very pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asks with great interest.

"I've never asked," Sir Nicholas answers delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appears. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As you help yourself to some trifle, the talk turns to family.

"Muggleborn." Hermione was eating strawberry ice cream. "Both my parents are dentists. You know, teeth adjustments?"

People around her are looking very confused.

"I'm half and half," says Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laugh.

"What about you, Neville?" Asks Ron, who everyone knows is pureblood. Hogwarts is full of Weasleys.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," says Neville. "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me - he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced - all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

Neville is the nervous sort of boy that goes on and on but looks uncomfortable when he finishes, like expecting someone to criticize him, or afraid that he's said too much.

"What about you, Amy?" Asks Ron. Everyone else has shared except for you and Harry, but everyone knows where he comes from.

"It's a little confusing with me." You answer truthfully. "Both my parents were magical, but they're dead, so I grew up in an orphanage, with muggles and stuff." Pausing a little, you add, "But someone told me that there has been no Waldgraves for years? They died out when Voldemort -"

There comes several gasps.

"Oh get over it, I'm saying his name. There's nothing to be afraid of in a name." You snarl. You see Neville going white. "Sorry. Anyway, they died during the last wizarding war. So I guess no one knew they had a baby? But apparently they knew I existed, because Dumbledore came to me and invited me here? Like ? What?"

They were all silent, some staring at you, some at their plate. Finally, Ron speaks up.

"My father works in the ministry. He said something about the list of enrollment - they can see where the unregistered magic is coming from, but they can't see who they are. So that's why they send people to talk to muggleborns - to register them. Purebloods only get a letter because they should be registered at birth. So often times people can get problems because an unregistered magic user, like a house elf or something, could go to their area and use magic, and it would appear like they used magic. Anyway, you're parents probably didn't - er, didn't register you?"

He looks like he's questioning his own logic.

"When Dumbledore came to me, though, he knew who I was. He knew that I was a Waldgrave, and he wasn't surprised." This is a mystery to everyone.

"It usually isn't Dumbledore that visits muggleborns, Amy." Says Percy. "He probably knew that it was you doing all that magic, and he came to see you himself. He's - well, he's Dumbledore. You've seen how he is - unpredictable, and a little mad."

You think for a while, and nod your head. "That's probably true."

So, there you go, mystery solved, and you fit in again. On your other side, Hermione and Percy started talking about lessons. They talk off transfiguration, and how it's suppose to be really hard.

You suddenly remember your little mission again. Looking up at the high table, you see Hagrid drinking deeply from his goblet. You shudder to think of him drunk. Professor Dumbledore is deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall, and the nervous young man you met in Diagon Alley, Professor Quirrell, in a purple turban, is talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. He is dressed in all black. The moment you start to frown, he turns his head to look at you. You see beady pits of darkness in his eyes and immediately realize that this might be the infamous Professor Snape, the one you're going to have to talk to. And you simultaneously realize that it's going to be a difficult chat, for he does not look like a happy fellow. The deep line between his eyebrows and his turned down corners of his mouth gives him a permanent frown. He looks past you and away, turning his attention to Harry.

"Ow!" Harry suddenly gives a gasp of pain.

"What is it, Harry?" You ask him.

"Nothing." He is rubbing his scar.

At last, the desserts disappeared too, and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall falls silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashes in the direction of the Weasley twins. They grin mischievously. You decide to approach them later and learn a few tricks.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

You laugh, along with Harry, but you're one of the very few that did.

"He's not serious?" Harry mirrors the question you were going to ask Percy.

"Must be," answers Percy, frowning up at Dumbledore. Then he mutters something about Dumbledore should have explained the reason to them Prefects.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" The smiles on the faces of the other teachers suddenly become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gives his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flies out of it, which rises high above the tables and twists itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone picks their favourite tune," Dumbledore says cheerfully. "And off we go!"

And the school starts bellowing a horrible mixture of songs all consisting of the following lyrics:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everyone finished their version of the song at different times, the twins finally finishing in tune to a funeral march, whose last few lines were conducted by Dumbledore using his wand as baton. He was one of those who clapped the loudest.

"Ah, music," he says, wiping his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years follows Percy the Prefect out of the Great Hall and through corridors full of moving portraits, pointing and whispering. Many times he lead you through hallways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. You climb up staircases and come to a sudden halt, in front of a bundle of walking sticks floating in midair.

Percy bravely takes a step forward, causing the walking sticks to start throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," He whispers to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, loud enough for several portraits to stir in their sleep. "Peeves - show yourself!"

A loud, rude sound, like the air coming out of a balloon, answers.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, floating cross- legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" He says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He suddenly swoops at the first years. You duck, along with everyone else.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" Barks Percy.

Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They hear him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passes by.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," Says Percy as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects." Percy is very full of himself. "Here we are."

At the very end of the hallway is a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress that looks like it's about to burst.

"Password?" She says.

"Caput Draconis." Percy answers surely, and the portrait swings forward to reveal a large round hole in the wall. You all scramble through it - Neville needs a leg up - and finds yourself in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room decorated in scarlet and gold full of squashy armchairs and hanging portraits, including one of a younger but obvious Professor McGonagall.

Percy directs the boys through one door to their dormitory and the girls through another. At the top of a spiral staircase - they are obviously in one of the towers - you find your beds: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Your trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, the others pulls on their pajamas and fell into bed, but you had yet to finish your day.

You sneak down to the common room again after Percy leaves for the older boys' dorm, and glance out the window through the velvet curtains. You see a black bird soaring through the sky and grin - Morrigan is here.

You extend your hand out the window, and the dark shape lands on your forearm. You pull it into the light, into the common room brightly lit by a burning fire place enchanted to dispel smoke.

"Hello, Morrigan," You say. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Hello," It croaks. "Well, you're going to see plenty of me now, I'm going to be living with you for seven years. I hope you have a cage, because I will poop all over the place."

"Yeah, I'll get one for you." You wave away the statement. "But say, old raven, do you deliver letters?"

"Just for you, little fam." It hops onto a table, pecking at the wood.

You go upstairs to pick up a quill and some parchment. When you have returned, Morrigan had somehow managed to find some banana bread and is pecking at it. Sucking on your quill, You begin to write.

 _Dear Avitus,_

 _I am pleased to inform you that I have made my way into Gryffindor. I understand that I was suppose to be sorted into Slytherin, but the Hat does not know I have joined the army of one of the most ambitious and powerful wizard. Thus, I realize that a Gryffindor identity would raise less suspicion for me as a spy. It will be much easier to gain everyone's trust when I am not placed in the house known for cunningness._

 _I will keep you informed as I progress into this mission, I plan on talking to Professor Snape tomorrow._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _You know who I am._

You feel like keeping your identity secret just in case the letter was intercepted.

"Ready?" You role the little piece of paper up and tie it to Morrigan's leg with a piece of leather.

"That's my middle name." She squawks.

Then without another word, it flaps out the window and soars off into the darkness, it's body a black shadow against the silver moon.

"Be safe," you whisper into the night, and head upstairs for sleep at last. A long day is ahead of you tomorrow.

But are you ready?

 **So here it is, Amy is in Hogwarts. Please follow or like, or put your advices bellow. Thanks for reading!**


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